


Anon OC Commission

by Ravvi



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dubiel being a shrinking violet, Fluff, Other, Pining, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravvi/pseuds/Ravvi
Summary: This was a request for help developing an Undertale-based OC.  100% sfw fluff set in the classic universe, with cameos from Sans, Papyrus, Toriel, and Gerson.  Each section is supposed to be fairly able to stand-alone, and intended for serial publication later if so desired.  They also wanted to publish this separately on a SFW blog later, so they’ve asked that I not release their name.As always, comment away ^_^  I’d love to see what everyone thinks of this, it’s definitely not in my usual sandbox, lol.





	Anon OC Commission

**Secret Admirer**

I know secrets.

 Most of them are small secrets, the kind that anyone could find out.  All you have to do is be quiet, be patient, and listen.

 There are larger secrets in the Underground, and I know many of those too.  But those aren’t always the good ones.  Big secrets weigh on you, like ugly, mud-covered rocks that make your hands dirty and pockets threaten to split at the seams.  No, it’s the smaller ones that truly sparkle.  Crystalline motes of light that glimmer in the darkness like snowflakes, quiet and-

 “AAHHH, IT’S COLD, IT’S COLD, IT’S COLD!!!”

 The tall skeleton danced around in the snow, tugging furiously at his plastic, costume breastplate.

 “What’s up bro?” a smaller, shabbily dressed skeleton snickered. “Get a…chill down your spine?”

 “Oh my GOD,” the tall skeleton panted, staring at the other monster with incredulous shock.  “Did you…DID YOU JUST PUT SNOW IN MY BATTLE BODY?!”

 “…no?”

“Brother?”

“Yeah?”

 “YOU ARE A TERRIBLE LIAR!”

 His brother squealed as he was triumphantly captured and held in place while handfuls of icy, cold revenge were stuffed down the back of his jacket.

  _Not secret_ : the tall skeleton was named Papyrus, and his brother was Sans.  They enjoyed tormenting each other and were pretty much the main source of entertainment in the Underground.

  _Secret_ : Most people trudged along, barely holding onto their hope as they faced their daily struggles.  Papyrus was somehow…above that.  Every time I saw him, he was cheering, yelling, or literally jumping with joy. Somehow, he seemed so much more _alive_ than everyone else, so much so that it just kind of felt…good to be around him.  Like standing next to a warm fire after a long, cold, and dark night.

 Papyrus finished exacting revenge on his brother and left him propped up in his sentry station, blue-faced and breathless with his jacket thoroughly stuffed with snow.

“And never let it be forgotten that I, the GREAT PAPYRUS, am the master of snow fights!” he cackled, then bounded down the path and out of sight.

 My tree shifted a little as a light breeze made its branches bob back and forth, found gaps in my cloak and made me shiver.  Ugh, that was cold.  Probably a good idea to start moving around, otherwise my feet were going to start getting numb.  That was about it for today’s ‘show’ anyway.  The rest would just be Sans dozing on his sentry desk.

  _Secret:_ Once, Sans fell asleep so hard he drooled all over his sentry station.  When he woke up, the drool had frozen his face to the counter and Papyrus had to come free him with a bucket of lukewarm water.

 With a small sigh, I flexed my hands and breathed over them.  Little orange sparkles fluttered over my skin, giving me a better grip as I slipped out of the tree and into the forest.  My body was too light to leave much in the way of footprints, so I didn’t worry too much about that...

 “Enjoy the show, bucco?” Sans called out.  I started, then slowly turned around.  Sans was sitting at his sentry station, back toward me and feet casually propped on the counter.  If he hadn’t said anything, I’d have sworn he hadn’t noticed me.

  _Not Secret:_ I hate it when people notice me.

  _Secret:_ Sans is WAY more observant than he looks.

 I took off into the forest at a run, moving as quickly and quietly as possible.  The last thing I needed today was another little ‘talk’ with Sans the Skeleton.  

 

**Tailor-Made**

At the end of a faint trail that runs through the heart of Snowdin’s forest, there are a set of rough, stone steps that are never covered with snow.  They end at a blank stone wall that neither moss nor icicles ever stick to, despite the fact that the nearby walls are liberally covered with both.

“EEEEEEE!” squeaked a handful of tiny pebble monsters as I hopped up the steps and stomped the snow off my boots.  They dove off the steps and into the snow with shrill, indignant peeps in my direction, like I’d personally insulted their families.  Funny little guys.  They didn’t talk and were about as smart as…well, rocks, but they squeaked at anyone who came by and always hung around these steps.  It was like having an alarm bell, but smaller and more annoying because I couldn’t turn it off.  

I set one hand on the stone wall in front of me for balance, then carefully checked behind me.  The forest was still, stretching off into the distance until they faded into a dreary, grey blur.  People rarely came this close to the ruins, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.  I had good reasons for keeping my home a secret.

Satisfied that I was alone, I tugged my mitten off, breathed over my hand, and quickly pressed it to the stone wall before the sparks dancing over my palm could fade.

_Scraaape-_

My hand tingled as the wall shuddered and a slow ripple spread across the surface, like the stone had turned into water.  I pushed my hand through and drew it to the side, like I was parting a curtain.  The wall bunched up around my hand, leaving an opening in the wall big enough to duck through.

 _Secret:_ I had _the best_ front door.

Grinning a little, I stepped through to the other side and kicked off my damp boots.  The wall fell closed, then re-solidified into stone.

Home at last.

I flicked the lights on, illuminating the walls and floor of a big, open cave.  Most of the space was currently occupied by rows of clotheslines weighed down by yards and yards of fabric that I’d found washed up in the junkyard…

And from the smell of things, I hadn’t done the best job washing it.

Sighing, I walked up and down the rows, squeezing past my bed and the small kitchen as I ran my hands over the fabrics.  It was almost impossible to find anything that wasn’t stained, so I’d started experimenting with bleach to make more of the cloth I found usable.  It had…sort of worked.  

“Better than nothing?” I muttered, tugging a length of denim off the line.  Instead of getting rid of the stains, the bleach had mostly just faded the blue and made the greasy, dark spots even darker.  Well, maybe I could still use it for something after I cleaned it. For the third time.

Meticulously, I went through the rest of the cloth, pulling out the pieces that still smelled a little too much like garbage and tossing the others on the chair behind my sewing machine.  Looked like I had a few good pieces to work with.  Some nice, dark orange fabric, and a sheet of creamy linen that would go well together for a special project.  And all the rest…

Carefully, I threaded my sewing machine, threw a badly-stained scrap of cloth under the foot, and pressed a toe to the pedal.  The ancient Singer groaned, then jolted to life, making an uneven pattern of stitches across the test-piece that quickly tangled into an uneven mess. Gently, I tugged the fabric free, adjusted the tension knobs, and tried again.

“There we go,” I murmured, watching as the needle laid a neat row.  This old thing was always cranky before it warmed up.  Still, it was MUCH faster than sewing by hand. Neater too, much as I hated to admit it. Humans sure knew how to make good machines.

I spent most of the morning sewing shirts, keeping the style simple and neat.  These always sold pretty well, and people didn’t seem to mind if I used lower-quality fabrics so long as they were clean.

I took a break around mid-morning to stretch and prop the door open to let in some fresh air.  Took another break shortly after to chase down a pebble monsters that dashed inside and started chirping at me from under the stove.  Made three pairs of simple, draw-string pants and took a longer break for lunch.  

Instant noodles always took so long for something that was supposed to be…well, instant.  

The quiet started getting to me, so I dug my notebook out from under a pile of fabric scraps and started sketching.  Those nice cloth pieces I’d found would make a beautiful long-coat.  Maybe two panels of orange and one of cream?

Papyrus would look really good in those colours.  Would he like it if …?  

Even unfinished, that thought made me want to hide under the bed and not come out for a year.  Dear god, I didn’t even know his measurements, it probably wouldn’t even fit.  How would I even GIVE it to him?  I hadn’t said more than two words to him in my entire life, what was I going to do? Shove a wrapped package in his arms and run?

The idea sounded better than I suspected it would work, so I tried to stop thinking about it.

 _Secret_ :  The model I used in my drawings all bore a striking resemblance to a certain, optimistic skeleton who I would probably never really be able to talk to.

**Good Salesmanship**

“Dubiel, one of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack with your wretched sneaking,” the old turtle monster groused into his newspaper without looking up.  “Get down from there before you break your neck.”

Grinning sheepishly, I climbed down off the top of Gerson’s shop and walked up to the front.  

“How do you always know that it’s me?” I pouted.  I could never stay hidden for long around the old veteran, not that I hadn’t tried.

“These eyes are old, but they’re not blind,” was the grumbled retort.  “I bet you’re here to sell something too.  You’re always extra sneaky when you’ve got things to sell.”

“Well…”

“Waa ha ha! I’m right, ain’t I?  Well, let’s see it youngin,” Gerson cackled, setting the newspaper aside.  

One by one, I pulled out the clothes I made that morning and set them on the counter.  Gerson picked one up and unfolded it with a grunt of appreciation.

“Does me good to see someone putting some _effort_ into their work,” he muttered, turning the shirt inside-out and running a gnarled finger over the seam.  “Triple-stitched and folded, just what I like to see.  None of this cheap nonsense that unravels the second you look at it. Thirty each for the shirts and forty-five for the pants.”

“Ok,” I agreed, warmed by the praise.  

“And one of these days, you’ll actually haggle with me,” he sighed, counting coins onto the counter. “You do good work sonny, but you need to speak up for it.  Sell yourself high, that’s what people always told me, and it’s good advice.  People take you for granted if you don’t.”

“Ok,” I said, accepting the coins.

“You listening to a word I’m saying Dubiel?”

“…ok?” I grinned, slipping the coins into my bag.  I’d made a special, padded pocket inside so they wouldn’t jingle when I walked.

“That’s EXACTLY what I thought,” he grumbled, then fumbled around under the counter for a moment and slid something across the counter.  “Here, take it.”

“…A phone?” I asked, picking up the little device hesitantly.  “I…I don’t talk a whole lot, I mean,” I held it out uncertainly. “Can’t you sell it to someone?  I probably won’t ever use it.”

It wasn’t like I had anyone I could call anyway.

“Keep it.  I know you live alone,” I started, and gave him a sharp look.  He lifted a finger and continued.  “Hear me out sonny.  You live alone, so say something happens.  An icicle falls off the ceiling and cracks your head open.  It COULD happen, you know.  Saw it happen once to this poor Snowdrake woman, it was lucky for her people were around!  But you,” he reached across the counter and tapped a claw on the phone’s plastic casing. “You’d be all on your lonesome and nobody’d come to help.  That’s what this is for.”

He sat back and sighed. “I’d be mighty disappointed if you stopped selling me these clothes, even if you do keep sneaking up on me and giving me flashbacks.  So you keep that on you, hear?”

I looked down at the scratched and battered cover of the device.  It was lighter than I thought a cell phone would be.  Uglier too, but maybe I could fix that.

I wrapped my fingers around the little device and tucked it in my bag next to the coins.

“Ok.”

 

**Anonymous**

The underground is full of doors.

Many are hidden, like the door to my home, and were probably made by monsters in the Underground’s early days.  Back then, people were still worried that the humans were going to storm into our prison and end things once and for all.  They made many secret tunnels and hidden shelters to hide in, just in case.

But this wasn’t one of those doors.

“You’re always so quiet I can barely hear you,” the voice chuckled.  “Did you just ask me if I’ve ever given someone a gift?”

“Yes.  Well, not just anyone.  Someone you don’t know…very well?” I added, raising my voice a little and immediately feeling painfully self-conscious.  I knew how easy it was to hide in the trees around here and watch the large, ornate door that led to the Ruins without being seen.

 _Secret:_ Five monsters sometimes came to this door to talk. Only two of them knew that the door could talk back, and one of them was me.

The voice laughed, a deep, full-body chortle like I’d just told her the world’s funniest joke.  “Oh my,” she finally sighed, “I’ve given gifts to many monsters who I only knew in passing.  But I suspect that our cases are not entirely the same.  Do you care for this mystery someone?”

From the way she laughed again, I wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t seen me blush.  Talking with someone who couldn’t see me was _much_ easier than talking with someone in person, but even that could get uncomfortable when my listener seemed so, terrifyingly perceptive.

“I…w-well,” I stammered, then paused and took a deep breath.  “Not like that, not really.  I just…”

I swallowed hard and reminded myself that she didn’t know my name, what I looked like, or where I lived. That confiding in her was ok, because she’d promised never to tell anyone else my secrets.

“I guess I should back up a little,” I finally managed to say.  “Every day, the people I see are just making do with what we’ve been given. So many of us remember the surface and we _know_ that life could be so much better.  That living trapped down here…” I let my hands fall into my lap and stared down into the snow, “…it isn’t really living at all.  Especially when there’s so little hope that we’ll ever be free.  I mean, collect seven human souls?”

My own laugh sounded bitter, even to me.

“It’s hard to hold onto hope when it hinges on a fairy-tale.  But then there’s…someone.  And it’s like he doesn’t even realize how much better things could be?  Or maybe he does and it just doesn’t faze him.  Whenever I see him, he looks so _alive._ Not like everyone else.  He isn’t just…” I made a frustrated gesture down at myself.  “ _Enduring_ with our situation and waiting for it to be over.  All I have to do is look at him and I feel hope for that stupid fairy tale, because _he_ has hope.  And I…”  I sighed, and dropped my head onto my knees.  “Never mind, it’s stupid anyway.”

There was a long silence from behind the door.

“And this is the person you wanted to give a gift to?”

“Yes,” I half-whispered, thinking about the cloak I’d ended up making with the fabric.  Seven panels with pleats at the hem and the softest cloth I could find to line the inside.  I’d never spent so much time on a project in my entire life, and it was just sitting under my bed.  And probably would be for all eternity.

“Then if he is truly as you describe him, I think he would accept it from you.”

It wasn’t that easy.

“And I’m sure he would be very happy with it as well.”

Oh god, unless I’d messed it up somehow and it didn’t fit or was uncomfortable and he tried to wear it _anyway_ and didn’t like it _…_

“Though perhaps the problem is that you don’t want to give it to him in person?”

I would _love_ to give it to him in person, but I’d also probably sink into the center of the earth and die of embarrassment.

“So perhaps you could give it to him anonymously?  Through the mail perhaps.  Or if he lives close by, you could put it directly in his mailbox?”

…that might work…

_crunch Crunch CruNCH-_

I started, then looked down the road.  Were those footsteps?  Was someone coming?!

“Thank you for the advice. Sorry, but I have to go,” I said quickly, pulling up my hood and running into the forest.  A few yards in, I breathed over my hands, picked a sturdy-looking pine and started climbing.  I’d just made it to a good resting spot when I heard footsteps crunch over the snow on the road below me.

 _Secret_ : Sans is the other monster who comes to talk to the door, and knows that there is a voice on the other side that talks back.

And he was staring right at my tree.  

After a moment, he casually looked away, then walked up to the door and knocked.  I was too far away to hear the rest of the conversation, and too spooked to do much besides clutch my chest and wait for my heart to stop trying to leap out of my chest.  

 _Also Secret:_ Sans was the real reason why I would never be able to give his brother a gift.

 

**Unseen**

“Hmmm,” I murmured to myself, gingerly lifting a brightly-coloured magazine out of the trash pile and holding it at arm’s length for a moment to let the water drip off. The cover said ‘Vogue’ in large bold letters, behind a human wearing what looked like a large, artfully draped scarf and a pair of high-heeled boots.  

Score.

Delicately, I peeled the first page back and blew over the paper to dry it out a little.  The ink had run around the edges, but luckily, the pictures tended to be toward the middle of the magazine and those were what I was interested in.  

“Pffttt,” I snickered, looking over a full-page photo of a model wearing a dress made entirely out of gold ruffles.  Did they really think they looked good in that?  They looked so serious in the picture, it was hard to tell if they were actually having fun.  Well, I probably wouldn’t be too happy if people were taking pictures of me in an outfit like THAT either.  Those colours were ALL WRONG for their skin tone…

A muffled splash filtered through the piles of trash behind me.  Immediately, I stuffed the magazine into my bag along with two other fashion magazines I’d managed to find and glared toward the noise.  Ughhhhh, was there ever a time when someone WASN’T at the garbage dump?  I’d come here in the middle of the night, _specifically_ to avoid everyone else, and someone just HAD to be here instead of sleeping like…

Wait, a second, was that…

OH GOD-

I somehow found myself perched on top of a huge pile of garbage, teetering on the back of a broken armchair and an old suitcase with absolutely no memory of how I got there. Below me, Papyrus sauntered up to the trash pile I’d been digging through and began obliviously looking through a pile of old, stained clothes with a cheerful hum.

I took a shaky breath and pressed a hand to my chest, trying to keep my balance and calm myself down at the same time.  What was Papyrus, of all people, doing _here?!_ At this time of night?  It was literally 2:30 in the morning, why wasn’t he asleep?

“Ah ha!” Papyrus cackled to himself, tugging a lump of sodden cloth out of the pile and spreading it out.  It was a t-shirt with the slogan, ‘I hate t-shirts with slogans,’ written in fancy letters across the chest.  Immediately, he took out a permanent marker, crossed out the word ‘hate,’ and scribbled ‘LOVE’ above the crossed-out word with a triumphant flourish.

Gosh I REALLY hoped that ominous creaking sound wasn’t coming from the chair I was currently standing on…

Papyrus contentedly dug through the other t-shirts, selecting the ones with loud patterns and bright colours, wringing them out, and tucking them neatly into his backpack.  Every time he found something he particularly liked, he made a pleased little ‘nyeh-heh!’ and spent a moment grinning at his prize before moving on.  Normally, I could have watched him do that all day, but that creaking sound was definitely coming from the chair I was standing on and it was getting louder-

_Cr-ACK-_

With a feeling that was closer to resigned dread than surprise, I watched the chair give way and send me tumbling head over heels to land with an awkward thump at Papyrus’ feet.

Perhaps this was a nightmare.  I think I’d had nightmares like this before…

“Hello!  Are you all right?” Papyrus asked me with cheerful concern.

Oh, I was fine.  My everything had just stopped working.

“Oh no!  I can see by your lack of dialogue that you may have hurt yourself!  Please allow me to assist you,” Papyrus declared, reaching down to offer me a hand.

“I’m fine!  Just fine!” spluttered, backing into the pile of trash.  What was I supposed to do?!  Was I supposed to say something?  Why was he _looking_ at me-

Before anything else could go horribly wrong, I darted to the side, pressed my back against an old refrigerator, and held my breath.  Orange sparks rapidly fizzled over my vision, making everything look dim and hazy as the spell took hold.  

“Oh my, please don’t run, you might-“ Papyrus rounded the corner, blinked, then looked around with astonishment.

“Oh…I guess they really were fine,” he murmured to himself, frowning a little as he took a half-step forward.  His eyelights slid right over me as though I wasn’t even there.  After a moment, he shrugged, hefted his backpack, and began meandering through the junkyard, bouncing a little on the toes of his feet with every step.

Shaking a little, I released the breath I’d been holding to drop the spell.  My vision went back to normal as the invisibility lifted.

God, that was terrible. The one chance I’d had to actually talk…

And I couldn’t even…  

Well, best not to dwell on it.  It wasn’t like I hadn’t _known_ that I wouldn’t be able to, much less on the spur of the moment like that.

My heart still felt like a cold, heavy weight as I cautiously began making my way out of the junkyard, paying careful attention to my surroundings to make sure I didn’t run into anyone else as I headed back home.


End file.
